


(After the Night) The Morning Comes

by sadhockeytrashbaby (allofthefandoms)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, attempted overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/sadhockeytrashbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I…I think I need to see someone…”</p><p>“Is it about Connor?”</p><p>“I…we’re together…dating…he called me last night and told me he wanted to take his whole bottle of painkillers at once just to make it go away…I know what that feels like…there have been times that I’ve felt it too…”<br/>. .</p><p>Or things are hard, and about to get harder.  (But maybe we don't have to do it alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



> Okay, so my partner in crime somehowunbroken and I were talking about pressure on draft picks and got on the subject of Dylan and Connor and it was also Bell Let's Talk day, which is a big mental health awareness campaign in Canada that's sponsored by the NHL and so I had to write a 2k wordvomit about mentally ill rookies.
> 
> Do heed the tags on this. While the ending is hopeful the bulk of this fic is pretty grim and is as far as I could make it, a realistic look into living with anxiety and suicide ideation.
> 
> More detailed and spoilery trigger warnings in the end notes.

Connor doesn’t know where Dylan had gotten the Oxycodon from.

(They are hockey players, both of them. It’s not hard to imagine were they might find it. And frankly Connor doesn’t care.)

It’s the having that scares him, the way Dylan tips out pill after pill to align them in rows like soldiers. There must be a dozen on the tiny sink of their hotel room when the bottle rattles empty. Dylan’s head is bowed as he fills a glass of water and sets it beside the pills. The breath that escapes him breaks and Connor steps forward, suddenly deathly afraid.

“Dyls…whatever it is, whatever is hurting you it’s not worth this…please…”

“How am I supposed to do this without you, Davo? I’m not…I’m not…” When he crumples to the floor, the pills scatter everywhere and Connor scrambles to pick up as many as he can. Dylan doesn’t stop him, staring blankly at his hands. Soon all of them are in the palm of Connor’s trembling grasp and he dumps them all into the toilet, flushing and flushing until the after image of tiny blue pills is gone.

“I can’t do this without you,” Dylan sobs, curling into a tiny ball on the floor. He’s properly crying now and Connor is beside himself.

“That’s not true, Dylan and you know it. They aren’t saying you’ll go top five because of me.” He scoops Dylan off the floor, half carrying him back to the beds. He debates letting Dylan sleep in his own bed, but another sob has Dylan tangling his hands in Connor’s shirt and he knows that Dylan needs to be close. He wraps Dylan tightly in a blanket before snatching the spare off the other bed and pulling it over both of them. Dylan presses his face to Connor’s chest, wordless and still shaking.

“Where’d you think I’d be without you, huh?” Connor breaths, clutching Dylan close. “If I’d been 5 minutes later and you’d taken all those pills like you’d wanted to? If I’d found you like that, choking on your own vomit, or…or…or if I’d been too late…God…I love you Dylan…we’re otters for life. The draft, the NHL…it’s not going to change that.”

“…for life? You promise?”

“For life.”

The draft comes and Dylan looks better, but Connor can’t stop watching. He waves at him across the hall, glad when the joy makes it to Dylan’s eyes. He tries not to get sucked up in everything, constantly seeking Dylan out. The reporters think it’s cute, and he takes it as an excuse to let his hands linger on Dylan’s shoulders during photos and scrums. But it’s obvious by the set of his shoulders that Dylan is getting overwhelmed. They keep asking him about Connor and that’s not fair because Dylan deserves his own spotlight not someone else’s shadow.

They get back to the hotel room and Dylan collapses. Connor is very glad he double checked that he’d flushed all the pills the night before.

“That’s was awful.”

“You didn’t do too badly for yourself.”

“Yeah but all they wanted to talk about was you.” Connor doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows what’s being given said, the accolades and promises being made before he’s even played a single NHL game. He knows people like Eichel resent it, but it’s another thing to hear it coming from Dylan.

“I wouldn’t be here without you, without you loving me and putting up with my bullshit. They don’t know that, but I do.”

“I’m not going to make the team this year.”

“Oh come on. You’re good enough! “

“They drafted me for next year. Don’t act like you don’t know that.”

“And you’ll be even better then. You earned this. Don’t ever forget that.” Dylan finally smiles, and Connor takes it as a victory.

. .

“Holy shit.”

Connor is down and not bouncing back up and someone must have replaced Dylan’s food with lead it sits so heavy in his stomach. Dylan knows every intimate inch of Connor’s face, of the expressions that he usually shows so freely, and he can tell he is in agony, though he’s refusing to let the pain show. He looks at Alex and he knows that he can tell too.

“Fuck!”

Dylan can’t focus on the rest of the game. Alerts on Connor’s status trickle in, shoulder injury, hospitalized, potentially severe…all Dylan wants is to hear his voice, but he knows it would be dumb to call. Connor probably doesn’t have any of his things, and is probably in too much pain to do more than just lie there.

(Pain. His Connor is in pain and he’s hours away like a useless lump and it’s the worst he’s ever felt including before the draft.)

It’s late when his phone finally buzzes. He doesn’t know the number, but he picks up anyway.

“Dyls?”

“Connor, god, baby…how bad is it?”

“Surgery tomorrow morning…broken collarbone…8 to 12 weeks…”

“Fuck…I’m so sorry Connor…”

“I messed up…they were relying on me and now I’ll be gone the whole season.”

“it’s not the whole season. You’ll be playing after the All-Star break.”

“it’s as good as the season…they never should have picked me first. I was supposed to be better than this. I was supposed to fix this.”

“No one person is good enough to fix a whole entire organization. Don’t be silly.” Dylan can’t hide the fear in his voice, and he senses Connor recoiling from it and he curses himself silently.

“I know you’re hurting right now, and that you’re scared and upset. But it’s going to be okay, I promise. You’re not going to have to go through this alone. Otters for life, remember?”

“But I’m not…”

“For life, Connor. That’s forever, no matter who you’re playing for. They guys are so upset for you. I’m already hearing murmurs of a care package in the works. You’re not alone.”

“I could…I could just take them…” It’s a non sequitur and Dylan doesn’t follow.

“They left me my painkillers. I could just…take all of them.” Dylan leaps up, even though Connor is 2000 miles away and there’s nothing he can do but pray staying on the phone would be enough.

“Connor no…say it is the whole season. Baby it’s your first year. You have so much to accomplish. Maybe it costs you the Calder. So what? There are cups to be lifted, medals to be won, trophy shelves to fill. Losing half a year to a broken bones won’t stop all of that front happening. You’re so good, Connor. This is a setback. You can still accomplish everything you want.”

“The next Sidney Crosby, they said…well, they were right, even if this wasn’t the way they meant it…”

“What?”

“He missed a whole year with concussions…has he ever been healthy for a full year? I don’t want that to be me. I’d rather be dead.”

“What about Conner, the person? Doesn’t he deserves a chance?”

“At what, a miserable closeted life? That sounds so wonderful.” Pain is making Connor mean, but it still doesn’t keep the words from cutting like a knife. They’d fought about it before, what they were going to do once they reached the NHL. The Otters had known, in that way that people who aren’t really trying to hide know, but this was different. Thee was no place to be them, no place where they would be anything but competition, and it sticks in someplace vulnerable and sad inside Dylan.

“I…I’m not going to hide,” Dylan whispered. “I don’t have to tell them it’s you, but…I’ve lived that life. It’s old. If that’s a deal breaker…” Dylan doesn’t want to think about the possibility of Connor choosing the closet over him, but he couldn’t wouldn’t lie to his team and his fans.

“I love you…” Connor sounds desperate and the fact that Dylan can’t hold him hurts more than any injury he has ever suffered. 

“I love you too. So much…stay on the phone with me, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Connor goes into surgery early, and Dylan has to go to practice, exhausted and terrified and unable to talk about it. It festers through practice, and even though he’s sure coach notices no one calls him on it. He’s pathetically grateful for it. After practice, Dylan goes to find the trainer.

“Anything I tell you is in confidence, right?”

“Within limits. I won’t let you hide an injury from the coaches, but you know I’m here for you.”

“I…I think I need to see someone…”

“Is it about Connor?”

“I…we’re together…dating…he called me last night and told me he wanted to take his whole bottle of painkillers at once just to make it go away…I know what that feels like…there have been times that I’ve felt it too…”

“It’s hard to admit that,” Andrew says gently. “I’m glad you felt like you could come to me. I definitely have some people you can call and I could probably find some people for Connor too if you think that would help him.” Dylan sags in relief. He can help Connor this way too.

“And you won’t tell?” 

”It’s between you and me until you say otherwise.”

“You’re a snitch,” Connor says the next time they talk, but there is no heat behind it, only relief.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got an appointment tomorrow. I just…Connor I was so scared…and even if we don’t work out, I need to know you’re okay. You’re my best friend, the person I care most about in the whole world…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t do everything I could.” Dylan can’t help but stare at the floor, grateful that the phone line hides the tears in his eyes.

“Yore always going to be looking after me aren’t you?” Theirs is a wonderful warm fondness in Connor’s voice and suddenly things are okay again after just a few words.

“I’m always going to try.”

. .

“Davo!!”

The joy in Dylan’s voice is infectious, spreading right across Connor’s face as he pulls his boyfriend close. He’s still mindful of his injury, but the pain has long since faded to distant throbbing and the occasional irritated twinge when he doesn’t pay attention. But the joy of holding Dylan in his arms vastly outweighs any pain from his shoulder as he buries his face in Dylan’s hair and breaths in his familiar cheap shampoo and the faint tang of sweat.

“You smell good,” he says and Dylan snorts.

“You just missed me.”

“Yes.”

“How are you?”

“PT is a bitch and I don’t think I’ve cried this much in front of one person ever before I started therapy, but things are good. I’ve had some real breakthroughs.”

“I’m glad,” Dylan says softly. “It’s really been helping me too.”

“It’s gotten me thinking. About what you said the first night I was in the hospital. I don’t want to be ashamed of who I am, or how much I love you. I…I want to come out. With you. I know you have some free time coming up soon, and I was wondering…would you be willing to come up to Edmonton? Meet the team?”

“As your boyfriend?”

“As my everything. Because you are. You make me happy. You make me brave. And forever seems like a long time from where I’m standing but I can’t imagine finding someone I’d rather spent it with.” Dylan makes a sounds like the air was suddenly punched out of him and he tugs Connor into a shadowy corner and down for a breathless kiss. It’s sloppy and a little desperate, and Connor can’t stifle a wince when his shoulder pulls awkwardly.

“Let’s go home,” Dylan pants, mouth inches from Connor’s. “I want to do this somewhere where I won’t worry about hurting you.”

“You would never hurt me.”

“Sap.”

“What can I say? You bring it out in me.” Dylan snorts, tangling his hand in Connor’s and not letting go, even as they step into the light together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the unrepentant fluff chapter. I think there is going to be one more chapter with some of the consequences, but for this one it's just a lot of support and love, and a little bit of sexy times.

Connor gets better and Dylan secures a playoffs spot and they plan to go up to Edmonton together. Connor is bouncing with nerves as Dylan slips into the seat next to him on the plane. Connor never flies well, and that on top of his anxiety makes him pale and clammy.

“It’s okay Connor. They’re good people. They’re not going to turn on you.” Connor rests his head on Dylan’s shoulder, taking deep breaths while soaking in Dylan’s comforting warmth. Dylan takes his hand as they begin to taxi off and doesn’t let go until they are pulled up to their gate.

Edmonton is not Erie, and even this late there are still a few people who want a moment of Connor’s time, which Connor is more than ready to give despite Dylan’s protest. He signs a few hats, shakes a few hands and takes a few pictures and then they are free.

“I…I thought you might not want to third wheel with me and Hallsy, so I rented us a hotel room for the few days you’re here,” Connor says, feeling a bit bashful. But the way Dylan’s whole face lights up is worth the momentary embarrassment. He presses close the whole taxi ride, and when they are finally in their room, Dylan pulls him in for a dirty kiss.

“Can’t believe I get you to myself for three whole nights. You spoil me.” Connor flushes, already growing hard in his slacks. Dylan throws his sport coat haphazardly onto a chair and Connor almost reaches for it, but Dylan’s hands are warm and oh so distracting. His hands tug at Connor’s shirt, pressing against the trembling planes of his stomach. By the time the backs of his knees hit the bed, the shirt is gone and Connor is aching in his pants. 

“I wonder if I could make you come just by playing with your nipples.” Dylan feigns casual indifference but Connor sees him lick his lips. “We’ve got time now. No billet parents, no nosy teammates next door if you get loud…I can take my time with you tonight.” Connor shudders, breath hitching as Dylan traces the muscles in his stomach.

“God…missed the way you touch me,” Connor breathes, tugging Dylan down onto the bed with him. Dylan smiles from where he straddles Connor’s waist.

“Missed touching you. Long distance sucks.”

“I’m here. Stop thinking about that and get on with the touching already. Or are you all talk?” Dylan’s eyes narrow and he pinches one of Connor’s nipples hard, making him yelp. But the flush of heat after the momentary pain makes Connor sigh breathily.

“Beautiful,” Dylan says reverently, tracing the blush high on Connor’s cheekbones. They both fumble out of their remaining clothes, slotting together as they kiss softly. Dylan’s weight is a soothing blanket and when Dylan finally sees the thin scars over his shoulder, he nuzzles them before tracing them with a warm tongue. It startles a long moan from him, his legs falling wide so he can rock up against Dylan. Reaching for his bag, Dylan manages to find a little tube of lotion, squinting some into his palm before taking both of them in hand.

They come like that, rocking into the steady weight of each other, exchanging nipping kisses everywhere they could reach before being overcome.

Later, after another round, Dylan pulls Connor to him, tracing idle patterns on his skin. They lie and simply breathe together before Dylan finally speaks.

“So…tomorrow after the game then?”

“After the game.”

The whistles begin the moment Connor peels his shirt off in the locker room. Dylan loves to leave marks, and usually it didn’t matter. But today, hearing Hall chirp as bruises were revealed made him flush and duck his head. It’s been so long since he’s been in the locker room with the guys, and their energy is excited and a little off the wall.

“When the hell did you pick up last night? Weren’t you picking up Stromer from the airport last night? Thought I guess you didn’t come back to the apartment, so who knows?”

“Our little rookie, getting some action. Not so innocent, are you?”

“Looks like his game extends beyond the ice.”

“Guys that’s enough,” Ference says softly, sensing Connors discomfort. “If he wants to talk about it, he will, and if he doesn’t it’s none of our business. We’re just glad you’re back, that’s all.”

Everything goes right the moment Connor steps onto the ice. All his reconditioning makes it felt like he’s flying, and the joyous roar of the crowd makes his heart pound.

(Dylan’s voice is in there somewhere. Connor feels his heart stutter at the thought and he knows a wide grin is on his face for no reason. Well, every reason really.)

When the game is over, Connor is riding a wave of adrenalin and joy, his teammates patting him on the back and welcoming him home. He looks up from undoing his leg tape to find Dylan leaning in the doorway, face painfully fond. Connor feels his heart do something and he has to duck his head to remind himself to get undressed. Once he is down to his Underarmor he gets up and goes to Dylan side.

“I have someone to introduce you to,” he says as the room falls silent  
.  
“We saw the draft Davo,” Taylor says, a bemused expression on his face. “We all know who Stromer is.”

“I don’t think you know my boyfriend Dylan though.” There’s a moment of complete silence, and Connor takes Dylan’s hand, nerves churning.

“How long have you been together?” a beat reporter asks as the press decends.

“2 and a half years, I think?” Dylan nods, pressing closer.

“Ah...if it’s all the same to you guys, I’d rather not talk about it with the press just yet,” Connor says, taking a step back. “If was nervous and just wanted to get it out there, but I need to talk with the team and my agent and stuff. We’ll be releasing a statement of course, and doing interviews but for now I’d just like to talk about the game.” Dylan stays close as the interviews finish up. Connor notices no one is leaving, and it sets him even more on edge. Eventually the reporters all file out, leaving just the team and the coaching staff. 

“I think I can speak for everyone when I say I admire the courage it took to do that,” Ference says softly. “I want you to know you have the full support of this team, and that I will not allow this space to become unsafe. Anyone who has a problem can come easy to me or coach and enjoy a trip somewhere else, but I won’t accept any shit in this locker room.” There were murmurs of agreement from the room at large and something released in Connor’s chest.

“That’s means a lot to me…I…it’s been hard, coming to terms with who I am while still wanting to play hockey. Knowing you guys have my back…I can’t express enough what that means.”

“That’s explains more than it doesn’t though,” Taylor says with a grin. “Nice work, Stromer.”

“He likes being chewed on. What can I say?” Connor flushed bright red, but the chirp doesn’t wipe away the grin.


	3. Chapter 3

It stops being easy once Dylan leaves.

Everyone and their mother has something to say, and the picture of him standing in locker room clutching Dylan’s hand is on the front page of every blog for what feels like weeks. A lot of what is said ranges from spiteful to downright mean. Everyone wants to know everything, and Connor didn’t do this many interviews and press scrums even after he had been drafted first.

(Connor or takes to folding his hands in his lap so people don’t notice how hard they shake.)

Dylan gets his fair share of it, and a few less scrupulous reporters go to try to get a scoop from Connors former teammates on the Otters.

“It’s not like it was some sort of secret,” Brinsky said with a dry laugh. “I mean, we didn’t ask about it, but it wasn’t like those two were very subtle. Besides, what does it matter? They are great players and amazing people and I wish them nothing but the best.”

~ ~

Things come to a head during a game against the Ducks. They are losing badly after the first period, and right off the first face off Perry is being especially nasty. Connor tries to ignore the slurs, but he feels his throat close anyway. Perry must know that he’s managed to upset him after he wins the face off and the chirping just gets more venomous. Things bubble over when Connor is scrambling for a puck in the corner, Perry trying to use his weight and height to pry him loose.

“Who’s dick did you have to suck to get drafted first?” he spits, eyes dancing maliciously.

Connor can barely react before Perry is slammed into the boards by a furious Taylor Hall, who already had dropped his gloves. He’s a clumsy and inexperienced fighter, but he has surprise and fury on his side and Perry is bloody when they finally go down.

“You can’t say that you cowardly motherfucker! He’s twice as brave as you’ll ever be you piece of shit!” He’s still spitting when the refs pull him away, a bruise already forming on his cheek and Connor isn’t sure how to feel.

(It certainly helps that they kill the penalty.)

Taylor sets off on a one man’s crusade to pulp the Ducks into the ground and the whole team rises up to meet him, and by some miracle they go into the last intermission tied.

“I don’t need you to…protect my honor or whatever that was,” Connor says a little bitterly.

“You’re my fucking line mate. I’m not going to let him get away with talking that sort of shit! You got here on talent and heard work and fuck him for implying it was anything else!”

“Yeah, but we’re not always going to be able to kill the penalty.” Taylor huffs but concedes the point. 

(He still ends the night with both a Goldie Howe and natural hat trick as well as the first star, and the bruise that he carries high on his cheekbone is an endless source of pride and amusement for him and the rest of the team. Any lingering resentment melts in the face of the visible sign of his team’s unwavering support. They have his back. He gets that now.)

They don’t make the playoffs, but for the first time in a long while ‘maybe next year’ doesn’t feel like an empty platitude. Exit day is never fun unless you win, but everyone seems in high spirits. Connor gets dragged out, but he only takes a few of the drinks offered him. He remembers the lows of his injuries too acutely to be anything but cautious with what he puts his body and mind through. There’s ribbing, of course, but it’s gentle and there are a few knowing looks from a few players who are nursing beers instead of getting drunk. Eventually he pours Taylor into a cab, choosing to get home on his own. He sets off on foot, enjoying the soft spring night as he dials Dylan. 

He doesn’t expect the Calder nomination. Dylan and the Otters repeat as champions and con or couldn’t be prouder to have him on his arm. He’s breathtaking in his new suit, all lean end of season lines compared to the beginnings of Connor’s summer bulk. He fits perfectly under Connors arm, ad that’s right where Connor keeps him. He feels a little bashful on the red carpet, but Dylan keeps a constant and comforting stream of conversation going, charming as always as they make it to their seats and finally settle down.

He wins.

He wins and Dylan is jumping up and down with joy and pride, decorum be damned. The joy and disbelief makes his tongue heavy as he walks up to the podium, and he has to take a few breaths before he can even begin to speak.

“Thank you so much for this honor,” he says softly, voice still tight. “I’m privileged to be up here representing a team that has gone above and beyond for me, never wavering in their support despite the storm of my injury and coming out. They believed in me, perhaps when it was unwise to, which I’m forever thankful for. A special thanks to Coach McLellan and GM Peter Chiarelli, and to Taylor Hall, consulate roommate and friend. Last but certainly not least, my thanks and love to my boyfriend Dylan. I know I would not be here today without your love and support. Looking forward to being your arm candy here next year.”

Dylan greets him with an enthusiastic kiss, wrapping himself around Connor with his eyes filled with unabashed pride and love. Connor holds him just as tightly and he thinks he just might burst. He faintly hears the clicks of cameras, but this time he doesn’t care.

(That night, Dylan kisses him breathless and everything slots into place. His is going to make it, and Dylan will be right there beside him.)

**Author's Note:**

> The fic opens with Connor finding Dylan preparing to kill himself by taking pills (though he doesn't actually take any), and the second part of the fic deals with wanting to die due to perceived failure and the mention of access to pills with which to do so. In both cases, they are talked down before actually attempting anything, and by the end of the fic both of them are in therapy to help cope with their issues.


End file.
